Blood memory is a belief, and ancestral in nature, most specifically rooted in American Indian culture. Blood memory has to do with powerfully held traditions, thinking and behavior buried in our genes. The notion of blood memory suggests that our genes carry within them memories, which sometimes call out to us; sometimes unconsciously or intuitively, and often influence decisions we make and what we become, for better or worse, whether we are aware of it or not. Blood memory comes primarily from a place, a physical location where an indigenous cultural tradition once existed, and no matter how far we have traveled from that center, it is thought that we never lose that bond.

Torrington, Connecticut, my hometown, is one of those places where blood memory links ancestors and descendants, and it was to Torrington I returned last September for my fiftieth high school reunion.

Torrington was founded by English settlers in 1740, and nestles in a valley surrounded by the hills of northwestern Connecticut.  From the mid-1800s to the mid-1900s, it rapidly grew into a thriving industrial mill town.

Several factories manufactured brass, machine tools, clocks, fans, shells; a major woolen mill was powered by the turbulent Naugatuck River. Factories needed workers, and so came immigrants by thousands: first the English, then the Irish and Germans, and later Poles, Czechs, Slovaks, Swiss, Italians, French and Lebanese.

Each group, settled into its own neighborhood, preserving native country values and culture, its language, food, skills, religious beliefs and stories. Several new Catholic churches and parochial schools were built: St. Francis for the Irish, St. Peter's for the Italians, Sacred Heart for the Slovaks, St. Mary's for the Poles, and St. Maron Maronite for the Syrians, Greeks and Lebanese.  Protestants, Lutherans, Quakers and Jews also added to the increasing diversity of the population. Torrington became an immigrant stew, and most of my classmates born in the mid-40s were first- or second-generation offspring of one of these groups.
Territory is critical to blood memory, because our ancestors sought out a home-base to preserve traditions and a sense of personal identity. For thousands, Torrington was their choice. So it was that in this environment my classmates and I grew up and shared the common experience of four high school years, which shaped us into what we would become.

High school reunions are not easy because high school itself is not an easy transition. Those who decide to attend a reunion most likely have some level of anxiety for a variety of reasons. For many, high school was not a positive experience. Yet, there is something about going back, a longing to return to the familiar of years ago, to the old neighborhoods, the schools, the ball-fields, the hang outs and streets and even the factories closed long ago.

Sure we evolve, move on, and make our own unique choices in life. We know we are not like our ancestors, we are not the same people we were fifty years ago. The high school reunion demands that we look back, whether we want to or not, and we make a choice to reenter or not, a world we left behind.

Some graduated and closed the door never to return. Fifty classmates have passed away. Those of us who left town and scattered, and decided to attend our high school reunion did so in part, of course, because we wanted to reconnect with our classmates. But another motivation for those of us returning might be a surrender to the churning memories carried in our blood from all those who came before us.

What I loved about this reunion, unlike earlier ones, is that by the time we got to this one, no one cared what size we were, what we were wearing, what kind of car we drove or how much money we were making—or whether we were married, divorced or swung from trees. We were just damned happy to see each other: girl pals, guy pals, old boyfriends, the mayor, the dancer, the biologist, the teachers and nurses, the brokers and business owners, the retired and working. This reunion was warm, genuine, authentic and without judgment or competition.

Deaths, illness, indignities, disappointments haunted us all. But time is a great equalizer. The triumph is that we showed up, had a few drinks, danced, laughed, teared up, told stories of our lives, and at the end of five hours looked into each other's eyes, hugged and wondered if we would see each other again.

Going back to my roots, to the source of my blood memory, restored and centered me. That was the surprise gift! So congratulations to the class of 1962, to those who came to the reunion, to those who did not, and to those who have passed on. And to our ancestors who by giving us life made it possible for us to be together one more time.